


The Adventures of Maximilien Robespierre: Sex Kitten.

by AStupidUserName420



Category: A Place of Greater Safety - Hilary Mantel, French Revolution RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Antoine already had 4K of porn, Blow Jobs, Dirty Thoughts, Don't want people to get bored, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Multi, Why Did I Write This?, historical fiction - Freeform, historical fuckery, that will get me into trouble if my professors ever find this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 15:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStupidUserName420/pseuds/AStupidUserName420
Summary: Five times Maximilien got his freak on, in various ways.(A sort of prequel to Fraternal Love. cantgetoversns wanted to know who Maxime got his experience from. K. This one is for them.)EDIT: Now with bonus Danton chapter, because as Lafayette would say: Why Not?





	1. Paris, with Pierre.

The Adventures of Maximilien Robespierre: Sex kitten.

A/N: Man. I’m going directly to hell and then Robespierre is going to punch me in the face. #WorthIt

One.

Maximilien was at the end of his school career when the first time happened. He was in Paris, working, like everyone else who lived in Paris did, and he’d been walking back to le Grand, his face in a copy of _The Social Contract_ when someone stepped out in front of him, effectively blocking his path.

Maximilien looked up, blinking in the setting light. “Oh, pardon me monsieur, I didn’t see you,” he said quietly and tried to step around the other.

“What’s your hurry?” the man said, his accent Parisan. “Besides, I stepped in front of you, sir.” He grabbed Maxime’s arm. His breath smelled like chewed mint.

Maximilien looked from the arm restraining him up to the man’s face. He realized with a start that he was hardly older than Maximilien himself. Maybe in his late twenties. He seemed to be some kind of day laborer, with his shirt opened at the collar, his waistcoat unbuttoned, and a cravat slung around his neck.

“I’m on my home, sir. Let go of me, please,” Maxime said, the man smiled slightly and leaned in. Something hot skittered across the back of Maxime’s neck.

“What’s your hurry? I have wine, and I can make it worth your trouble.” His mint flavored breath wafted over Maxime’s face.

“I have a curfew,” Maximilien said quietly. Heat was spreading down his body. Something very strange was happening to him, he was sure, but he didn’t quite know what, yet.

The man’s other hand moved from the wall to Maxime’s hip. It burned through the black cotton. He leaned in even closer and Maxime swallowed hard as his lips brushed against his face.

“Why don’t you miss it and see what I have to offer you, sir?”

Maximilien’s breath hitched and he glanced up at the man through his eyelashes.

“Alright.”

XXX

Maxime found himself in a small dark room with a bed, a table, and a bottle of wine. There were remains of a single candle. The man closed the door behind him. Maximilien jumped when an arm wrapped itself around his waist.

“You can put your book down, monsieur. You can’t use that here,” he murmured and reached down with his other hand to cup Maxime through his breeches. Maximilien held his breath.

“What’s your name?” He whispered. The man spun him around in his arms.

“Does it matter, monsieur?” He asked before kissing Maximilien deeply. His stubble scratched against Maxime’s cheeks and chin. The schoolyard teasing and chaste kisses had nothing on this man, who ground his mouth against Maxime’s, teeth clicking and tongues wrapping around each other.

The man broke the kiss and started pushing Maximilien back to the bed, fingers busy at his waist, undoing the ties at his hips.

His knees hit the back of the bed and Maxime gasped as he fell backward, landing on his back. He didn’t have time to say anything before his breeches were being pulled down, along with his under clothes.

“Hmm, are you a virgin, little student?” The man asked from where he was leaning over Maximilien, pinning him to the thin mattress. He flushed and the man grinned, reaching down and stroking him. “Oh I see, you’re shy as well. You’re lucky, I have a special rate for shy virgins.”

Maxime opened his mouth to protest but all that emerged was a choked moan when his cock was stroked again, the touch speeding up and becoming firmer.

“Have you been touched like this before, petit étudiant? Are you feeling good?”

Something in Maximilien was screaming at him in a provincial accent that this was not good, it was unchristian and dirty. It was the corrupting influence of the city at work, grinding away his immortal soul into a fine dust.

But if it was bad, then why did Maxime’s body move with the man’s calloused hand, his hips bucking in time to the stroking, moaning breathlessly? Why did he feel so alive if he was damning his own soul? The man was right, he did feel good, better than he’d ever felt when he touched himself.

Maxime didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until the stimulation stopped and his eyes flew open to look up at the man. He was breathing hard and he felt twitchy. Between his legs, his cock was flushed and hard enough to point straight up.

“Oh you are _adorable_ ,” the man said. “After this, you’ll have to come back and visit me again, alright? Bring some sous and we’ll really be able to have some fun.”

Maxime swallowed hard as the man knelt down on the floor, between his legs. He couldn’t stop the groan that tore itself from his throat as the man took his cock in his mouth. He hadn’t ever felt anything like it, the warmth and pressure. A strong hand wrapped around the base and squeezed gently, making Maximilien gasp and buck up against his mouth.

His head rolled back on the dirty linen and his hat fell off as he arched. Maxime was saying something but he could only hear the rushing of blood in his ears. The man took more of him into his mouth and did something with his tongue against the underside and then the world was coming apart at the seams, drowning Maximilien in light.

Maxime blinked, slumped back on the bed. He felt like he was waking from a very realistic dream, and didn’t know what was real anymore. He propped himself up onto his elbows and looked around. His breeches were still tangled around his thighs, and his now limp member laid passively against his thigh. Maximilien blushed and look up at the sound of glass on wood.

It was dark and the man was leaning against the table, watching him. He took a sip of wine from the bottle and smirked at Maximilien.

“Oh yes, little student. You’re going to be some fun.”

End Part One/Five.  


	2. Back in Arras

Two. (Arras, Jean-Pascal.)

It was June in Arras and the Rosati were meeting in the shade of the trees.

Maxime was wandering along the bank, with a glass of wine in one hand, and a fistful of flowers in the other.

“Ah, Maxime! I have found some more over here!” Pascal said, beckoning him over to a willow that dipped her leaves into the river. Maxie smiled and ducked under the boughs.

Jean-Pascal handed him another wild summer rose, carefully cut from the roots.

“Merci, Pascal,” Maximilien muttered, bringing the rose to his face and inhaling its sweet fragrance.

He looked over right before Pascal grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the tree, the bark catching on his silk jacket.

Maximilien blinked and had a moment to breathe before Pascal kissed him. His moustache tickled when he tilted his face to deepen the kiss, his tongue getting into Maxime’s mouth. His eyes closed and Maximilien rested his hands on Pascal’s hips. It’s been a few years since he’s done this.

He spent the last summer in Paris between the thighs of Pierre, learning things that not even the contemptible de Sade could teach him in his illegal pamphlets. Since moving back to Arras, Maxime thought that he’d moved on, idly flirting with the provincial ladies.

However, when he sighed as Pascal drew him closer, making Maximilien arch onto his tip-toes, warmth started to pool in his belly and his cock stiffened against his thigh.

They stepped back after a moment, and Pascal’s look was downright filthy. He pinched Maxime’s thigh.

“You are coming over to dinner at my house, tomorrow night. Tell your siblings it’s too far to walk back and stay the night, ca va?”

Maxime found himself nodding, almost on auto pilot. Pascal leaned forward one last time, tucking the small summer rose into his wig.

“See you, Maxime.”

XXX

They had dinner in the small dining room of Jean-Pascal’s cottage, where he’d been living alone since his parents had died. Everyone was expecting him to marry Marie Deschamp.

“She’s a lovely girl. Very nice, and she plays the pinafore. I’m sure we’ll be very happy,” Pascal said. However he reached across the table and grabbed Maxime’s wine glass. Keeping eye contact, he placed his mouth over where Maxime’s had been.

“Until then, however,” Pascal purred, setting the glass back down, “I wonder what it is you know, Monsieur Robespierre?”

Maximilien blinked and took his glass back. He gave Pascal a small smile.

“What Paris taught me.”

XXX

They ended up in Pascal’s bedroom, with Maximilien under the other man. Pascal was tall and thin as a whip, but his limbs easily pinned Maxime easily to the bed. He worked at Maxime’s cravat, untying it and dropping the fabric to the floor. His lips eagerly attached themselves to Maximilien’s throat, nipping at the pale skin, enough to tantalize, but not enough to mark.

Maxime brought his knees up and hung onto Pascal’s shoulders, rolling his head to the side.

“Hmmm, Jonquille,” he murmured, using the name the Rosati had given Pascal during his initiation. He felt the other man smile.

“Will you undress for me, little Robespierre?”       

Maxime hummed under his breath and gently pushed him way. Pascal watched him with eager eyes as Maxime rid himself of his wig, shirt, and breeches.

Pascal stopped him before he could strip off his silk stockings, giving him a smirk.

“Non, you can leave those on, mon cher.”

Pascal pulled him back onto the bed, carelessly throwing his own waistcoat aside. His clothed body embraced Maximilien’s naked one.

He kissed his way down Maxime’s chest, holding onto his waist. Maximilien arched when Pascal nipped at his nipples, making them harden under his lips. A warm tongue soothed, licking a broad stripe from his chest to his collar bone.

Maximilien’s hand flexed on Pascal’s shoulder, and he tipped his head back with a moan.

“Maxime, you’ve been sodomized, oui?”

His breath caught in his throat, but he nodded. Pascal reached down between his legs to squeeze his cock, gently.

“Alright, turn over.”

Maximilien soon found himself facing the mattress, his fingers buried in the linen sheets. Pascal stroked his spine and buttocks, purring “Relax, mon petit cher.”

He turned his head to watch Pascal out of the corner of his eye. The other man was fishing for something among the mess of papers on his table.

“I received this oil from a cousin of mine in America. He fought in their war of Independence and discovered this, it’s purified from the hemp plant.”[1]

Maxime felt slick fingers probe at his entrance and Pascal pushed his right leg further up to get better access. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax. The first finger slipped inside of him. The oil was cool but quickly warmed to his body temperature.

With his face pressed to the pillow and a warm silk and cotton covered body in between his thighs, Maximilien was relaxing bit by bit.

Over that last summer in Paris, Maximilien had discovered that he _loved_ this. Loved feeling another strong masculine body pressed against his. He loved the natural elegance of the male cock, curved upward, hard and dripping. And he loved being pressed into the bed while someone fucked him.

Maximilien couldn’t bare the idea of anyone discovering this, and had sworn to stop when he returned home. But like his promise to the bar of Aras, keep politics out of his cases, it hadn’t lasted.

And now he arched back against the three fingers that Pascal had in him, thrusting in and scissoring outward and making his toes curl. The warmth was spreading out from his core, into his spine and making his head feel fuzzy.

“Hmm, you’re loud in bed, little Robespierre,” Pascal laughed in his ear. Maxime hadn’t even realized that he’d been moaning into the pillow. “Are you ready?” Maxime nodded, and sighed.

Pascal slowly pushed his way, a hard, hot pressure that made his gasp, arching his back into a bow. The stretch and burn spread through his entire body, warming him from the inside out.

Pascal was grunting in his ear, his arms braced on either side of Maxime’s prone body. With every thrust, his own cock was ground into the mattress, intensifying the ache with every movement.              

“Ah!” he cried out as Pascal brushed against _something_ on the inside of him, making electricity shoot up his spine. He bucked back against him, squirming. “A-ah, Jean again, do that again!”

Pascal nipped his shoulder, drawing back slowly and then roughly pushing back in. Maximilien moaned, only to be cut off when a long fingered hand clamped over his mouth.

“My neighbors don’t live _that_ far away. Let me help you.”

Gagged as he was Maxime could now only impotently thrust back against Pascal’s pace, seemingly designed to drive him to madness. His cock was dripping messily, bouncing against his taunt belly with every thrust, dying for contact.

Finally, after went felt like a tortuous eternity Pascal’s thrusting took on an urgent edge and with a long groan, he pulled out and Maxime felt a liquid heat hit the small of his back and roll off the sides of his hips. He moaned into Pascal’s hand, still covering his mouth.

Pascal rolled off of him with a groan.

“Ah, Maxime. Paris taught you well.”

Maximilien hurriedly turned over, his cock now aching intolerably. It was flushed a vivid red and he hissed when he grabbed at it, thumb brushing against the head.

Pascal watched him through half lidded eyes as Maximilien hurriedly stroked himself, his legs shaking and panting as he got close.

He closed his eyes and whimpered as the tension his hips finally released.

“A-ahh!”

Maxime tightened his grip and moaned as ejaculation poured over his fist. His hand dropped to the sheet and Pascal laughed quietly.

“Was that good, mon petit Robespierre?” He asked as he took his hand and gently cleaned it off with his handkerchief. “Will you come back to see me, before I get married?”

Maxime looked over at him and sighed with a small smile. “If time allows. The cases take up most of my time. And my literary essays.”

Pascal smiled. “I don’t know why I thought I could beat out you first love, that of the law.”

**End Part Two/Five.**

 

[1] Um. Hemp oil lube does not work for anal sex, because it doesn’t have the membranes that the vagina has. But, that is the least of this fic’s troubles. :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hahaha. I’m sick again (shout out to my homies at work who breathed on me!) and took the opportunity to work on this! Also I’m 24 today! ;’)


	3. Versailles, with Camille.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maximilien turned 30 just a few days after arriving for the assembly of the Estates General. Consider this an early birthday present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, I think you all knew this was going to happen. Just bros being bros! Hilary Mantel, I invite you to cook and eat my heart!

Three. (Versailles. Camille)

Of all the people Maxime expected to run into at Versailles, he hadn’t expected Camille to come rushing up to him out of the churning mass of the Third Estate.

“M-Maxime! Maximilien R-robespierre!” His oldest friend crowed, embracing him around the shoulders and pressing them together. Camille was thinner than he was at school and when he pulled back Maxime saw the circles under his eyes. He softened his gaze and smiled.

Oh Camille.

“Camille,” Maxime muttered in wonder, shading his eyes to get a better look at the younger man. The summer sun was playing havoc with his eyes. “How are you?”

Camille laughed, still clinging to Maxime, ignoring how the other deputies were looking at them. “How am I? How are you? How have you come to Versailles? What, an elected official of the Third Estate, oh Maxime, I always knew you could do it!” Camille’s stutter made the words tumbled into each other one after the other, all pushing to get out of his mouth at the same time.

 They pressed together again and Maximilien was beginning to catch his enthusiasm.

“Where are you staying?” he asked. Camille pushed his bangs out of his face.

“I was going to try and find lodging in Versailles, but all of the providences seem to have had the same idea,” Camille said.

“Stay with me,” Maxime offered. “I found rooms, they’re small but comfortable. Well, there’s a bed at least.”

Camille’s smile turned into something dangerous. Maxime winced, thinking over his previous sentence and it’s unintended innuendo.

“I prefer the bed,” Camille said lowly.

XXX

Being with Camille again made Maxime feel incredibly optimistic. Even though there were only two years between them, Camille acted as if he was a decade younger. He fluttered around Maximilien rooms, teasing him about the trunk of belongings Maxime brought.

“A tad bit worn at the knees, these,” Camille said, holding up one of Maxime’s silk stockings.

“No more than yours,” Maxime returned demurely, looking at his friend’s knees.

Camille’s sharp smile returned. Maximilien turned his back, scraping together dinner in the form of day-old bread and a few eggs in a bowl.

A warmth suddenly pressed against his back nearly made him drop the bowl. A pair of arms circled his waist. Maxime had a sudden wave of deja-vu.

“And what would you know of my knees, Maxime?” Camille whispered into his ear. Maxime gently set the bowl aside and turned in Camille’s arms. At least this time, he noted, he didn’t have to nearly bend his neck in half. Camille was only a few inches taller than him.

It felt a little like destiny when they kissed, after having known and lost each other for so long.

Camille tasted strongly of coffee. His face was velvety smooth against Maxime’s. The sun was setting over Versailles.

Camille eagerly pulled him over to the bed, laying down rapid-fire kisses over his face.

“Is this what you’ve been doing in Paris?” Maixime teased, as Camille flung himself back onto the thin unsatisfactory mattress.

“Isn’t this what everyone does in Paris? A-anyway, you’re one to talk, is this what they do in the provinces now?” He gripped Maxime’s wrists tightly. “Take your wig off.”

He did so, laying it carefully on the table. It was his only one, and he needed to be gentle.

He turned around and Camille had propped himself up on his elbows, watching him with a grin.

“I predict soon you’ll be out of fashion, M-maximilien.”

Maxime brushed a hand through his hair, wincing as it caught the snarls that always formed when he tied his hair up under his wig.

“I predict soon, you’ll _be_ the fashion, Camille,” he returned.

Camille grinned and kneeled on the bed, undoing the buttons on his waistcoat. Maxime undid his breeches, fingers fumbling in his haste.

Camille was naked before Maxime and teased him by squirming on the bed, giggling as Maxime nearly tripped over his own feet getting his stockings off.

“I’m cold, Maxime! Allons-y!”

Maximilien caught his knee on the frame and fell onto Camille, muffling his curse into his skin. Camille was shaking with laughter under him. Maxime dragged his fingers across his belly, causing Camille to shriek, trying to buck him off.

“D-don’t! Don’t tickle me, Maxime!”    

Their mouths slotted neatly together. Camille grabbed at his shoulders and they rolled over to their sides. Maxime muffled his moan into Camille’s throat.

Pascal had married the summer before last, and it had been too long to be close to another person like this.

Camille’s hair, free of its tie, tickled him as he kissed his way over Maxime’s shoulders. One delicate hand, stained with ink, wrapped around the base of his gradually hardening cock.

“I thought about d-doing this in school,” Camille blurted out. Maximilien blinked at him, brushing a hand through his hair and cupping the back of his neck. “I wanted to climb into your bed and let you use me. I-I wondered if I kissed the lips of the b-best orator in school if it would stop my stutter…”

Maxime kissed him, cutting off the rest of Camille’s explanation. He ran his hand over the younger man’s ribs, trying to be gentle.

“Oh Camille,” he whispered, meeting his friends' dark eyes. “You’re lovely, you shouldn’t-”

“I-I know. My p-pen is mightier than my voice,” Camille said now, smiling a little sadly. “You’ll just have to do the speaking for both of us.”

They kissed again and started to move against each other. Camille tore his mouth away from Maxime for a moment, his hot breath fanning over his face.

“P-promise, promise me that you won’t let them make you silent, M-maxime. We’ll need you, and your ridiculous accent.”

Maximilien cupped his chin and smiled gently. “We’ll do everything we can, for the Third Estate.”

Camille’s sharp grin returned and Maxime had to be careful avoid its edge when their mouths met again, tongues rubbing against each other.

Words were lost as they continued to grind their hips together, cocks nudging against each other. Maximilien reached between their bodies and wrapped his hand around both of them, making Camille cry out.

“Are you close?” He mumbled. Camille breathlessly nodded and buried his face into Maxime’s shoulder. He wrapped his leg around Camille’s, bringing them even closer together.

It was hard not to moan, his own hand tightening around them, the friction making him feel overly sensitive, and Camille panting in his ear. He whimpered, teeth clenched.

Suddenly Camille cried out and thrusted hard against Maxime. His cock twitched and then heat was dripping over Maxime’s hand and wrist. Camille twisted against him, groaning. He sagged, laying heavily on Maxime’s shoulder.

As Maximilien slowly fisted himself Camille suddenly stirred, knocking Maxime’s hand away.

“Non, come here, let me.”

Camille clumsily moved down the bed, his thin frame knocking against his knees. He knelt in between his legs and bent down to gently mouth at Maxime’s cock. His hot breath made Maxime shudder.

Maximilien moaned, leaning back against the one pillow on the bed. His hand found it’s way into Camille’s thick curls and hung on. Camille’s sharp little tongue curled around him and he moaned, the vibrations made his toes curl.

He closed his eyes and let Camille drag his mouth up and down his length, getting him close.

Maximilien hissed, suddenly thrusting up as Camille reached between his legs and cupped his testicles, rolling them teasingly between his fingers. He sucked hard and pressed his tongue over the sensitive slit.

Maxime came with a sharp gasp, his eyes flying open as he shuddered.

Camille sputtered and coughed into his hand. He wore such an exaggerated expression of distaste that Maxime laughed weakly.

“Je suis désolé. I wasn’t expecting it…”

Camille coughed again. “Only you, M-maxime. Jesus, I’ve never done _that_ before.” He moved off the bed, moonlight turning his hair to silver. He grabbed one of Maxime’s handkerchiefs and tossed it back to him, letting him clean himself up.

He came back and laid down next to Maximilien, resting his head on his shoulder. “Will you move to Paris after this is over?”

Maximilien neatly folded the cotton square and placed it aside. He turned over to his side and faced Camille. “Charlotte and Bonbon are still in Arras,” he said in lieu of an answer.

Camille snorted. “That’s not what I meant and you know it, Robespierre. You should move to P-paris. I’m going to marry Lucile and start a newspaper.”

Maxime smiled gently. They both knew nothing was as simple as that, but he didn’t want to upset Camille. “I look forward to meeting her.” Camille’s grin was love soaked and ridiculous.

“She’s amazing. You’ll love her.” He gave Maxime a sly look. “Her sister is single, you know. We could make it a double wedding. Then you wouldn’t need to go back to Arras at all.”

He laughed aloud at that. “I beginning to believe I’d make a poor husband.” He thought back to his short-lived engagement in Arras. “No, I think I’m simply going to remain married to the law.”

Camille yawned in his ear. “With brief interludes of infinitely with young men? You really do want to be Greek, don’t you?”

Maxime pinched him and pulled the blankets up. “No more than you, Camille.”

End Three/Five.  

 


	4. Paris, Danton. (Or Maximilien thinking about it sex with Danton.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HI-PITCHED CACKLING. Dear Maximilien Robespierre, I’m very sorry, but it had to be done.  
> On a personal note, I should quit my job and just write erotica for the rest of my life. (That’s a joke.)

Marat set his coffee cup down roughly, nearly spilling it onto the papers Maximilien had set onto his table.

“What are we going to do about Brissot and Roland?” The doctor snapped, whipping his head to look from Maximilien to Danton. “Hm? We can’t sit here and let them keep leading the people astray, with that fat bastard and Austrian bitch pulling the strings!”

Danton poured himself more wine and pushed the second glass over to Maxime, who ignored it. He took a sip and then looked at Marat.

“Well frankly, none of us are in the leadership position to do anything. So you keep howling away in your paper,” he flapped a massive hand at the printing press that was standing still, “and Robespierre can keep chipping away at the Jacobins, and I will do the same at the Cordeliers, and we’ll do the best we can.” He took a sip of wine. “This is what comes of changing things but not assuming authority.”

Marat shot to his feet. It probably wasn’t as impressive as he hoped but regardless he started pacing in front of the window.

Danton rolled his eyes and shot a glance at Maxime as Marat started going off.

Maximilien looked down at his papers and sighed. This would have been so much easier to do at the Duplay’s.

As Marat angrily snarled about Brissot in front of the window Danton leaned over the table, subtly nudging the wine closer to Maxime and asked, “How long do you think he’ll go this time?”

Maximilien glanced over. “A quarter of an hour, maybe more.”

Danton sat back, looking perturbed. “I have a wife and child. I would like to see them again.”

Maxime smiled under his hand and shrugged. “Doctor Marat is married as well, you can try to appeal.”

Danton rolled his eyes and settled himself back to watch the man pace back and forth in front of the window. He rested his heavy jaw in his hand and scoffed.

“I shouldn’t expect you to understand, incorruptible. You wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she laid naked in your bed, let alone married her.”

Maxime blinked, resting his hand on his papers.

_Is that what you think Georges?_

_You have no idea how many people I’ve slept with, what I’ve done. You’ve only heard what Mirabeau has said about me._

_What if I were to reach across this table right now and take that wine bottle and drink it all before asking you to come back to my rooms? What would think then, Georges? If I undressed before you and splayed my legs as wantonly as I ever have and asked you to fuck me? Have you ever had any women offer themselves like I could?_

_I think probably not._

_I don’t think you would know what to do with me. You’re a brute, Georges Danton. You’d just take your cock out and shove it in me like Brount would with a bitch._

_Which is a shame._

He tilted his head, studying the man before him. Broad shoulders, thick neck, tall and simply large all around. A pity about his face, one was eyelid torn and sagging, his mouth split in half where the horns of the bull had caught it. There seemed to be something of a perpetual sneer on them now, where the flesh was unnaturally pulled back.

Maxime wondered idly what that mouth would feel like, on his mouth, on his neck, his back.

Versailles had been a while ago. Everything was different now.

_You’re a big man, not the biggest I’ve ever slept with but I know the type. You’d want to smother me in the bed, press into me, and hold me down. You’d likely leave bruises on my legs and back where you hold on too hard. You’d pull my hair and try to hurt me. It wouldn’t be like it was with Camille, I’d feel like I need to fight back against you to survive the encounter._

_You’d want to do it bestial with no preparation or soft words, just me on my hands and knees and you keeping me in my place._

Maxime smiled slightly, amused by the thought. He glanced over at Marat who was leaning against the window sill staring down into the street.    

 Danton shifted across from him, audibly grumbling. He took another sip of wine and dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief.

_On the other hand, maybe not._

_Camille thinks the world of you, he’s pleased to see us getting along. And Gabrielle is lovely and you certainly seem to love her. Maybe there is an aspect of tenderness to you that you don’t show to me._

_That’s fair, there are things I won’t show to you either._

_Maybe you would want to look at me when you take me, see how my face flushes or my lips part as I gasp. You’d want to see me cry out when you fuck me, say your name or swallow your come, get it over my lips and face. You’d find that satisfactory, I think. You’d like to think that you’re the only man who has ever made me fall apart and brag about it later to Fabre. “Yes I took the Roman Robespierre and it was so good he’s decided to retire to a monastery because he knows he’ll never have it again.”_

He snorted and Danton shot him a glance, twisted face expressive.

  _You should ask Camille to tell you stories about the week he stayed in Versailles. Or if Pierre is still in Paris you could ask him to vouch for me. Or Pascal, who is still in Arras and on good terms with my brother and sister. You think just because I don’t advertise my inclinations I don’t have any at all. Which is wrong, simply because I believe my private life should be that, private._

_You don’t need to know I enjoy sodomy, that I love laying back and letting someone work me over till I’m not thinking anymore. You don’t need to know I love the male organ. You don’t need to know I’ve had Camille._

_And Georges you don’t need to know that if you offered, with all of your brutality and sometimes kindness and thick body, I’d probably accept. Georges if you looked me in the eye and asked to bend me over my desk and fuck me with your big, thick, hard cock, I’d let you._

Maxime was so lost in his own thoughts, eyes unfocused and drumming his fingers on the table that he jumped violently when Marat slammed his hands down on the table.

“Well?” The doctor snapped.

Maximilien blinked at him, totally bewildered. Danton started as well, nearly upsetting the wine glass.

“Well, what?” He asked.

Marat stared between the two of them, prodigious eyebrows narrowed and face set into craggy lines.

“Must I do everything myself? Fine, if the two of you are just going to sit there like boils, you can do it where you aren’t distracting me. Shoo!”

He flicked his hands at them, snatching the wine back from Danton and shoving Maxime’s papers into his chest. The two of them found themselves unceremoniously dumped onto the street, the door snapping shut behind them. Maxime heard the printing press clatter to life almost at once. He smiled slightly.

Oh Marat. He’d likely survive all of them.

Next to him Danton sighed, glancing behind them at the windows.

“You know the Americans revolution had a Franklin. We have a Marat. What do you think that says about us?” The bigger man wondered aloud.

“The absolution of our success,” Maximilien said calmly. He pulled his glasses down. “What are you going to do now?”

Danton shrugged. “Bother Camille. It’s good for him. What about you, monsieur Incorruptible?”

The nomenclature sent a fission of annoyance up Maxime’s spine like someone had raked their nails over chalk next to him.

He glanced over Danton, from his scarred face to his thick belly and large thighs.

“You know monsieur Danton, I was wondering, would you like to come back to my rooms? I actually have something I think you’ll find most interesting.”

End four/five.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Did they? Didn’t they? You make up your mind and tell me about it below. ;)


	5. Chapter four point five of five. Paris, with Danton. Like for real this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For cantgetoversns, cause I like them and they asked nicely. Uhhhh. Guilty fauxotp ahoy! Also I’m sorry to disappoint but they don’t do it on the desk. I was afraid they would probably break it.

Not for the first time, Maximilien is extremely grateful for the Duplays. He’s grateful that Maurice saved his life and opened his home. He’s grateful for the Madame who reminds him of his own family, and for Victoire, Elisabeth, and Eleonore, all of whom were lovely and kind.

But currently, he was pleased that the household was so busy that they left him to his own devices and did not question Danton’s presence. Maurice was outside, the Madame and the youngest daughters were out at the market, and Eleonore was at David’s studio.

Which was good because Georges Danton did not know the meaning of the word discretion. The window was still open for God’s sake!

Danton’s thick fingers fumbled with the ties at Maxime’s hips, both of them sweating copiously in the spring heat wave.

“Move. Let me,” Maxime breathlessly ordered. Danton huffed, laying his hands on the tops of his thighs.

“Alright, no need to snap. I’ll handle the bits I know then, shall I?”

Danton’s hands went to his neck and Maxime nearly flinched, but the other man started undoing the cravat. Danton’s was already gone and his chest was bared. Maximilien ran his hands through the coarse brown hair over his chest and belly. His heart was pounding his chest and he felt faint, sitting astride Danton’s thick thighs.

His cravat came off and the shortly his undershirt was tossed to the floor. Danton cut off his protest by roughly grabbing his head and slamming their mouths together. His rough scared lips moved over Maxime’s, thrusting his tongue into his mouth and their teeth clicking. Maxime clenched his hand over his broad shoulders, tangling his fingers into the thick hair.

Danton growled slightly and pulled away.

“Allons-y. Get naked and show me what I need to do to fuck you. It’ll be different than a woman, oui?”

Maxime huffed. “Yes, Georges it will be different than fucking women.”

A large blunt finger hand squeezed his bottom making him gasp and arch.

“Don’t be coy, you’re the one who started this.”

Danton dumped him on the bed and stripped off his culottes and smalls, thick cock hanging heavy between his legs. It was beginning to bend upward but its size still dragged it down slightly. Maxime blinked.

Well.

That explained some things.

Danton snapped his fingers. “I know, it’s amazing and Gabrielle loves it. Your landlord will be coming back.”

Maxime snapped his fingers back. “You’ll have to hand me the vial of oil that’s on my bookshelf, yes that one in the brown bottle. It’s not like a woman, you’ll have to go slowly.”

Danton muttered, “you go slowly,” before handing the oil over. Maxime rolled his eyes and flex his hips up, feet braced and stripped his own clothing off. He folded them over the end of the walnut frame bed before rolling his legs out and letting them open. He closed his eyes for a moment, heart still racing. He had a funny feeling that no matter what he did this was going to end up hurting.

Maxime open his eyes when the bed bent. Danton had sat on the end and took one of his feet in his hand, running blunted fingers over the top and ankle. He seemed to be staring thoughtfully at it, holding it delicately. There was something oddly intimate about watching Georges hold his foot. He looked up at Maxime, eyebrow raised. 

“Go on. I’ll watch.”

He huffed and leaned back on the pillows, taking a deep breath. Uncorking the bottle, he dripped oil over his fingers before sighing and dropping his hand between his legs. Maximilien heard Danton grunt when he worked his first finger into himself.

He pushed past the first ring of muscle, breathing evenly and trying to relax. He moved further in, arching his hips slightly. It was always more tricky by himself. Maxime squirmed, drawing out and adding a second finger into himself. He arched up a little more, eyes closed and teeth clenched slightly. His cock was throbbing with his pounding heartbeat and Georges was still stroking his leg. He could hear his harsh breathing.

“Ah!” Finally, his fingers grazed over the spot inside that made his vision spark. Danton’s hand tightened on his leg, the grip bruising.

He twisted, bearing down on his own hand. His breathing was beginning to get rough and he hissed again when he managed to get the angle right. Maxime groaned when he took his fingers away, grabbing at the oil again and dumping more over them.

“That’s a good look for you, Maximilien,” Danton rasped. Maxime glanced down and saw that his cock was harder, standing up between his thighs. Spontaneously, he gently brushed the top of his foot along its length. Georges groaned, his grip tightening.   

Maxime did it again, indulgently amused when he ran his toes along the underside and Georges growled.

“You should hurry. I won’t wait for you to finish forever,” he warned.

Maxime swallowed and ran his fingers through the oily residue on the insides of his thighs, then slid three into himself, moaning. He pried them open and gasped his muscles gradually loosened letting him go deeper, deeper, deeper.

He hadn’t realized he was moaning until Danton pinched him hard.

“Of course you’re loud, I should have guessed that really. Move your hand,” he ordered, before roughly moving Maxime’s leg out of the way to kneel between them.

With Danton looming over him and the bulk of his body parting his legs, Maximilien felt a fission of nervousness go up his spine. This man could likely crush him, really damage him irreparably and destroy Maxime. This close and he could smell Danton, a strong musky scent that was normally dampened by cotton and silk. He clenched the quilt underneath him.

He tried not to tense as Danton covered his mouth with his hand and the other stroked his cock, long ignored and throbbing. Maxime’s cry was muffled and inaudible and a sharp smile twisted Danton’s face.

“I could get used to seeing you this way,” he remarked conversationally. “The great Incorruptible gagged and naked. No one would believe me if I told them.” Maxime’s eyes went round and he tried to lurch upward. Danton placed a massive bear-like hand on his chest and stopped him cold.

“I won’t, you have my promise. But I’ll think about this again, and you’ll know it. When I meet your eyes in the middle of the Convention, and you see me smirk, you’ll know I’m thinking about this moment.”

Maxime relaxed backward and tried to breathe from under Danton’s hand. He was moving closer, stroking his own cock now.

_Relax, relax. Don’t tense, it’ll be so much worse if you tense_. Pierre’s voice seemed to come back from the past, floating across his mind.

He shut his eyes as the thick head of an already damp cock nudged at him. The muscles of his legs jumped and twitched and he tried to breathe.

Danton was not the largest he’d ever been with but it never became easier. As the other man shoved his way inside past the muscles to his soft insides, Maxime’s mouth fell open and he groaned. His toes curled and he arched upward but there was nowhere to go, he was pinned to the bed.

Danton growled in his ear, hand tightly clamped over his mouth and the other holding his hip. His thrusts were slow to start as he adjusted to Maxime body but quickly picked up the pace.

The bed shook as Maxime writhed under him, screaming into Danton’s beefy hand as his body tried to comprehend. Too long, it had been too long, and he was paying for it now. And Danton didn’t know what he was doing, just thrusting blindly, somehow only ever brushing along his prostate. It was like he was trying to drive him mad.

Maxime freed a hand from under the heavy body and slapped him hard on the shoulder. Danton stopped, sweating and grunting.

“What?” he snapped lifting his hand, covered in Maxime’s saliva.

“You’re terrible at this. I need leverage,” he said bluntly, his voice rasping. Danton’s face was one he would have paid dearly to have immortalized. He pushed him again. “Move back.”

With an annoyed grumble, Danton withdrew and sat back on his haunches. Shakily Maxime sat up before turning over onto his hands and knees. He glanced over his shoulder. “It’ll be easier this way, it’s almost impossible for you to miss now.”

“Miss what?” Danton asked distractedly, running his hands over Maxime’s back and down to cup his ass. “You have a surprisingly nice bottom, Maxime. Who knew?”

He rolled his eye and arched. “We don’t have forever, Danton.”

There was an amused huff from behind him and before he could say anything else a spike of pain hit him as Danton shoved his cock back into him.

“Ah!” Finally a spike of pleasure race through him making him tense his back and behind him Danton moaned, drawing out and thrusting back in.

Maximilien had to clench his teeth together, whimpering and hissing. Growing waves of pleasure washed through him with every rough push of Danton’s thick cock into him, making him thrust back faster and faster.

Massive hands clenched around his waist, nails digging into the fragile skin. It was almost enough, almost enough to get him up to his orgasm. His taunt cock was beginning to drip onto the quilt, aching. He dropped his head, shaking slightly. Danton was leaning his entire weight onto him, grunting viciously. 

“Ngh, ah, Georges s'il vous plait, I need you to touch me,” he whispered through his teeth.

“Hmm? What do you need? I couldn’t hear you.” Danton leaned down and whispered into his ear. Maxime moaned as he thrust in again.

_You bastard_.

“Touch me!” he snapped, louder.

“Where?” Danton asked viciously. “Tell me where, oh Robespierre.” He punctuated this with a brutal push, driving himself into Maxime’s prostate and making him cry out.

“Christ Danton, touch my cock!” He moaned, bucking forward. He could feel nothing more than the rising heat in his body, the desperate ache that was building and building.

There was raspy laughter next to him.

“I’m going to remember this moment forever.” Then a thick-fingered paw wrapped around his member, making him shout and buck.

Between the still brutal pace and the clumsily fondling Maxime was getting close making him whine and bite his lips. Danton was increasing his pace, breathing hard and thrusts becoming increasingly wild.

“Oh oh oh! Georges!” His knuckles were white from where he was gripping the sheets and every muscle was pulled taut before his climax was upon him, making him scream out, body shaking uncontrollably. The hard heat inside of him never stopped thrusting but went on forever, filling him and then suddenly Danton pulled out and brutally flipped him over.

Maxime watched with wide eyes as the bigger man fisted himself roughly and then cum was splattering over his chest and belly while Danton cursed.

There was silence for a long moment while they both tried to get their breath back. Only then did Maxime find the strength to blush. Danton let out a sigh and leaned down next to him. The bed creaked under his weight and Maxime flushed even harder.

They must have made an incredible amount of noise.

Danton let out a tired chuckle. “Well, you were right. I wouldn’t have missed seeing that for anything.”

Maxime propped himself up with a groan. His back and hips ached. He glanced out the window to see the sun starting to set.

“It’ll be the only time you do. The Duplays will be back soon and I’m sure Gabrielle has missed you.”

Danton smirked, before clambering off the bed.

“Well, if you need more physical consolidation, you know my address, Maxime.”

Maximilien rolled his eyes.

XXX

He saw Danton down the stairs but they both stopped cold when Eleonore Duplay delicately cleared her throat from the drawing room.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Danton.”

He nodded once then sent a wide eye look at Robespierre.

_Has she been here the whole time?!_

“I didn’t know you were home Eleonore,” Maxime said. She gestured to her chalk-covered hands.

“I just finished at David’s. I haven’t been here long.”

The three of them glanced at each other and Danton cleared his throat.

“I’m going to go. I live across the river after all. Good night Robespierre, mademoiselle Duplay.”

He absconded quickly shutting the door behind him.

Eleonore stared at Maxime with an eyebrow raised.

“How much did you hear?” he finally asked, settling himself down on a couch.

“Enough to realize what was happening. Then I took a brisk walk around the block. I’m no voyeur, Maximilien,” she said gently. He nodded.

“Since you did not fetch the National Guardsmen I can assume you don’t object?”

Eleonore tapped her chalk absently against her cheek, leaving a smudge. “Well I’d encourage your discretion but you don’t seem to make sleeping with others a habit. So no, I don’t suppose so.”

Maxime nodded once, relieved. He stood up to mount the stairs but stopped when Eleonore said his name. He turned and her dark eyes sparkled with the kind of puckish humor Camille sometimes had.

“Although, I thought you would have had better taste than Danton.”

He grinned slightly.

“Typically I do.”

She smiled back. “Well bring that one home next time. No more Cordeliers, alright?”

Maxime laughed, heading up to his room. “Next time I’ll find a proper Jacobin, thank you, Eleonore!”

End Four point five/Five.             

 


	6. Paris for a final time, with Antoine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: PYSCHE! Actually, this chapter is fluffy-angst emotional porn because of all of the many people Max has done, only one stayed with him. Thank you all for supporting this absurdity and not reporting me to the historiography police or being mean. :-: <3 all. BTW this is an almost direct sequel to Fraternal Love. Also I am not subtle, not even a little bit.

 

Antoine’s steps were light and hurried as he approached Rue Saint-Honore. He gave a short nod to the workmen who cluttered the yard. He glanced up at the tightly shuttered window and clenched his hand at his side. Antoine wrenched open the door and nearly tripped over Brount.

The mastiff whined, shaking his tail slowly. Antoine brushed his fingers over the large square skull and murmured, “Where is your master?”

Glancing around, the rest of the kitchen was empty. Antoine walked through to the dining room and to the sitting room.

Citoyenne Duplay and Eleonore were speaking in hushed tones to Joseph Souberbielle. All three of them glanced up when Antoine entered the room. Eleonore gave him a small smile, her eyes shadowed and face was drawn.

“Bonsouir,” he said, glancing up the stairwell, indicating his destination. Eleonore stood up before her mother could object.

“I’ll take you up,” she said, sweeping past him. He saw Souberbielle frown out of the corner of his eye and kept his face still as he climbed up the stairs.

“He’s very ill,” Eleonore whispered to him. “He’s feverish and raving. He will not eat and does not want any of us around him. He even snapped at mother.”

Antoine’s heart raced.

“How long?”

Eleonore stopped outside of his room and cast her eyes down.

“Since,” she hesitated for a moment. “Since last week.”

Antoine’s breath caught in his throat.

“You mean since Desmoulins’s execution,” he snapped. Eleonore met his eyes.

“That’s all he talks about. He blames himself,” she told him.

He rubbed his forehead and sighed. He looked down at Eleonore and slowly opened the door.

Antoine stepped into the small mansard, the interior dim and airless. The desk was cluttered but the rest of the room was spotless.

He moved his way over to the still figure on the bed.

Maxime was laying on the bed, sheets twisted around him and his hair matted to his face by sweat. His eyes were closed but his breathing rasped loudly in the silence.

“Oh Maxime,” Antoine murmured. He brushed his hand over his lovers’ forehead. Maxime’s green eyes flickered open. They were shot with red and circled.

“Antoine. Florelle, mon cher,” Maxime’s eyes filled with tears. “Go away. I do not want anyone here.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned down to press his forehead to Maxime’s. He met his gaze squarely. “Non. I will not leave you.”

A harsh sob shook the body underneath him. “And why not? Everyone else will.”

Maxime griped his arms, breathing harshly. “Antoine, what you’ve said is true. None, none at all can reign innocently. We are all mired in the blood of man.”

“Stop, stop this Maxime,” Antoine said, alarmed to hear him say this. He wrapped his arms tightly around the older man, nearly dragging him off the bed. Maxime felt fragile in his arms and Antoine tightened his grip. Maximilien did not embrace him back, hanging limply. 

“I thought I could be enough, I thought I could save him,” Maxime moaned, tears streaming down his cheeks. His words were broken by his sobs and he stuttered like what Desmoulins used to be. “I’m dust, I’m impotent. I could not save my mother, my sister. I cannot save anyone. You should leave me Antoine and save yourself. You’re the hope for France.”

Antoine shushed him hurriedly. He kissed his cheeks and neck. “I’m not going anywhere, Maxime. You will not make me leave your side. Je t’aime.”

Maxime slumped back, crying out hoarsely. He gripped the quilt, his face set into lines of agony. His cupid bow lips were bloodless and his cheeks flushed a burning red. Antoine reached over to the water basin and dipped his handkerchief into the water. It was warm and tepid but he figured it would still be cool to Maxime’s overheated skin. His hands shook and he chastised himself.

_There is no time to be frightened. Maxime needs you now. Focus._

He gently dapped the sodden cotton over his les amoureux. Maxime groaned, tossing his head. Antoine hushed him again, cooing softly to try to calm him. He wished he could go and ask Souberbielle for a sedative but didn’t want to leave Maxime while he was so frightened and unsure.

It was the doubt in his voice that shook Antoine to his core. Since the beginning, he’d looked to Maximilien as a keystone of the Revolution an unshakeable pillar of virtue for the Republic. Hearing his voice shake as he spoke of their mission…

It frightened him.

Maxime slowly calmed, panting. Antoine dipped the handkerchief into the water again and pressed it to his lips, letting water drip into his mouth. He moaned softly and rolled his head over on his pillow. He looked up at Antoine. His eyes were barely open. Antoine stroked his face, trailing his fingers over the high cheekbones and angular chin.

“Sleep Maxime. You’re exhausted.”

“To sleep is to isolate myself. I don’t want to be alone.”

Antoine stood up and began to undress. “You are not. I’ll sleep with you.”

He draped his layers over the back of the chair he had sat in so often and placed his boots at the end of the bed. Then, wearing just his undershirt and smalls he slid into the bed, pulling the covers securely around both of them. The bed was small, nearly unfit for both of them. Antoine wrapped his arms around him. Maxime stifled a sob, burying his face into Antoine’s chest and clutching him desperately.

“I did not want him to die, Antoine. I thought, I thought-”

“Arrêtez. I know.” Antoine tightened his grip.

They had argued about it at length, away from the Committee.

“I’m sorry,” Maxime whispered. “So much.”

“I know, I know,” he said, trying to hush him. “Go to sleep. You need to rest.”

“I see them when I close my eyes.”

“Regard moi, look at me.” Antoine tilted his head up to meet his eyes. They were overflowing with tears. “Hold my face in your mind. Don’t be afraid Maxime. I’m right here,” he said softly. Maxime slowly laid his head back on Antoine’s chest with a shaky sigh. Antoine brushed his hand down his back and began to hum an aria he’d heard in Strasbourg.

Very slowly Maxime’s breathing even out and his body relaxed, surrendering to Morpheus. He kept humming, regardless. It broke the tomb-like silence of the room. He couldn’t even hear the pounding and sawing of the workmen outside.

When the aria ended, he sighed and rested his head against Maxime’s. The other man didn’t even stir.

“When the war is over, we should move from Paris for a while. We can claim it is for your health and that I’m looking for a wife,” he whispered. “Or I won’t even claim that much and we can let Paris talk. We’ll sit beneath the oak trees and read. I can play my flute for you. We can be happy and together.”

Antoine drew in a shaky breath and smeared the tears that were gathering in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to cry where Maxime could see him.

It was an agony, to be in love and unable to display it. To be in love and knowing every day that one of them could make a mistake and die. To be in love.

Antoine had never known that it could cost him so much, to love Maximilien. Sometimes he wondered if it was going to kill him, just stop his heart from the intensity of emotion.              

He heard the door creak open slightly and glanced over his shoulder.

Eleonore looked into the room, her face relaxing as she saw Antoine curled up with Maxime asleep on his chest.

“Thank the supreme being, he’s finally asleep. Is he alright?” She asked, voice soft. Antoine hesitated before nodding.

“He’s exhausted. He needs some nourishing food and rest. But I think he’ll recover.”

Eleonore nodded, stepping out. Before she did, however, she smiled at Antoine.

“He’s…very happy when you’re here. I can tell.”

Antoine could feel himself flush. “Oui. I’m happy to be around him as well.”

Her smile gentled. “I know. He’s a good man, and you’re good for him, better than others have been.”

She stepped out of the room and Antoine sighed.

_Please let that be true, Eleonore. I want to protect him forever and see him happy. I love him._

-Fin! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!
> 
> Hope everyone is upset now!
> 
> P.S. If I opened up a Frev prompt/reply post here on Ao3, would anyone participate in it?


End file.
